New Normal

When you go through a transplanting, especially a difficult one, you discover a "new normal." I'm looking at this flood stuff as a transplanting process. Physically, many BisMan folks will be transplanted to new (hopefully temporary) homes. Physically, our bodies will never be the same after all these sandbags either. (you're supposed to smile at that)

But this 'event' is a part of a spiritual transplanting as well. We will emerge from this process as new creations; we will never be the same spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. What was once important may never be important to us again. And vice versa.

The reality is we're already changed and changing. Here are some "new normal" facts for me:

-I know that at least once a day, a National Guard truck will patrol my neighborhood. There's guardsmen posted at nearly all the main intersections near my house.

-I could care less if my hair is combed or my make-up is on. I haven't worn perfume in almost a week. I had to force myself to put on something more presentable than gardening clothes this morning.

-There's no furniture in my house, so we sit on the floor. We live out of suitcases. We eat off paper and drink out of plastic.


-I cry as soon as I hear a friend's voice. I cry when a stranger says "good luck."

-When in public, I tend to smile at and chat with strangers. Besides the fact I've only been in public twice in almost a week, the last thing I want to do is smile much less chat.

-I'm forcing myself to eat because people are bringing food and I'd feel guilty if I let it go to waste. But honestly, I don't feel like eating. Food doesn't even taste good. Not even chocolate.

-Gracey is constantly looking up into my face to see if I'm crying. Since usually I am, she says, "Don't cry mama, don't cry." This only makes me cry more.

-Adam knows all the flood terms. This one especially breaks my heart. He's 7. He shouldn't know what cubic feet per second or evacuation means. He shouldn't care what level the river is at or how to stack a sandbag.

-I'm completely comfortable crying in front of strangers and accepting hugs from them.

-Once an avid planner, I can't even think past 30-minute increments. I hear that when they knock on your door to evacuate you, you have 30 minutes. This is what our old neighbor told us this afternoon when he called.

-I miss our bunny, my neighbors, and my best friend. She's busy fighting the flood at her house. I'll be there tomorrow to help now that we're done here.

-Every morning I wake up and think, "Oh good it was just a dream." Then I look outside and see the piles of sandbags around my house. And I cry.

-I cry a lot. I try and laugh and make silly jokes but then I just cry some more.


I think those are all the changes for now. I know more are coming because in a day or so, we'll move to my sister's house.